


guns 'n' roses

by wardrobelarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Minor Character Death, Multi, Please dont kill me, assasinations au, black-ops CIA au, idk - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, spy AU, umm guns, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardrobelarry/pseuds/wardrobelarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe having him tied up in the back-seat with duct-tape over his mouth isn't exactly how Louis pictures the first time he meets Harry, but it's not like he has a choice. He couldn't possibly let Harry flail and wail around, especially when there're men outside with guns ready to shoot at any alarm.</p><p>At least he brought roses, though Harry doesn't seem to appreciate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello! okay first of all if youre actually going to read this work i would like to say a little (huge) thank you for having faith in this... thing i made. i really appreciate it. <3  
> down to the serious stuff, i do not own majority of this plot, it is inspired by the movie R.E.D., therefore it belongs to the director of said movie, whoever s/he may be. Although, i do have minor add-ins or take-outs into/from the plot, just to work in writer's favour. i do not own the characters stated in the description, but there are a few characters I have made up for the story. this is not a depiction of reality, at all, (obviously. other than the part where l&h are shagging. thats very much reality.) um. (what else am i supposed to put in this, idrk what im doing.)  
> if there are any mistakes or glitches or offences made or all that jazz, please do not hesitate to leave a comment, i will surely respond.  
> also, feedback is extreeeemely appreciated, just to know how im going with this fic.  
> thank you guys again ! :))  
> oh, yeah. there is a minor character death (well actually, there are many minor deaths, but this is more major than the other minors, i guess ??) um, im so sorry? its just how the plot works? :(( but it will be fine, i promise, its a good kinda death. like, yeah. i dont really wanna give much away so this is all im saying ! enjoy !
> 
> also, there is a playlist to go with this, tracks are linked in it to be played at the time. idk it just, intensifies things, i guess? hope you like it :)

 

**CLEVELAND          10TH OF DECEMBER 2015**

 

 

[Track: Waterfalls - TLC](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WEtxJ4-sh4)

It's one in the afternoon when Louis wakes up. Well technically, it's one in the afternoon when the sun hits Louis right in the left eye through the window and he makes an ugly, strangled sound before turning around and going back to sleep for five more minutes. Not that he intends to stay in bed for only five minutes, but sometimes things don't go as planned and your neighbour's chihuahua wouldn't for the love of god shut up.

  
So he sits up, curses the dog and waddles to the bathroom in his sweats.

He strips them off, stepping into the bathroom, toes curling on the cold tiles. He turns the hot water knob by half and the cold by a quarter, and waits until the water turns warm enough before he ducks under the stream. The steam fogs up the little cubicle, Louis breathing the clean smell of shower water. He puts a dollop of shampoo on his head, lathing it in his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. He washes the foam off, dipping his head back and letting the water pound on the crown of his head. He closes his eyes and stands still, just listening to the water tip-tapping on surfaces.

He moves on to his body. He spurts a considerate amount of bodywash on his hand, and starts rubbing on his torso. His hands glide over bare skin, apple scented wash reaching his nose and clouding his mind. He lathes over his armpits, and over his neck. He rolls his head, letting his hands roam the smooth surface of his throat.

He steps back under the water and starts rinsing off, the foam and bubbles sliding down his body and into the drain. He turns the faucets off once he's clean and steps out of the shower. 

Once he's towelled off, he hangs it and puts his sweats back on, this time with a black tank to accompany it. He feels droplets of water fall from the ends of his hair and onto his back, wetting the tank and making it stick to his skin. He should really consider getting a haircut since his head of fluff has indeed grown terribly long, but he kind of likes it this way. Makes him look rugged of some sort. Don't know.

  
He drags his feet towards the kitchen, and realises it's awfully quiet in the area. It's almost eerie, even though it's bright as day, to hear absolutely nothing, not even the glide of the dog's chain from across the street. There's no noise, and even Louis' humming seems to be too loud. He sighs. and makes himself a cuppa with a year old tea bag and boiled water that tastes stale somehow. 

  
It's not that Louis doesn't like retired life, it really isn't. It's just that, sometimes it gets too quiet, too serene, and he just really wants to shoot something, you know?

  
And he also is really, really getting tired of his right hand.

  
He distractedly looks out the window to the street, sipping idly at his morning tea. He doesn't know what he's staring at, exactly, but he continues to do so, apparently reaching that level of low. After a while he notices his mailbox isn't empty, and puts down his mug to retrieve the latter.

  
So the mail-man has finally paid a visit, and is probably the cause of Trina's string of high-pitched barks this morning. He collects the mail, flips through the junk and the letters, tearing up his pension cheque when he comes across it and tosses it in the bush before entering his house. Routine, routine, routine.

  
He closes the door and picks up his house phone before chucking the remaining mail aside and situating himself comfortably on one side of his sofa. 

[Track: Brighter Than The Sun - Colbie Caillat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KU5o6M7S5nQ)

  
He dials the number without even sparing a glance at the phone and puts it to his ear. 

"Customer Service, please." He says when the beeping stops.

  
He hears a string of static noises before it all stops, and through the speakers an exasperated sigh sounds through. Then a deep, unusually defeated voice drawls out a "Hi, this is the General Service Administration Pension Office and I am Harry Styles, how may I help you?

  
"Um, hi Harry, this is um, Louis Tomlinson." 

  
Louis hears a small surprised  _oh_ and a few things being knocked down, before it sounds like Harry's got his stuff sorted and he delightedly exhales "Hi, Louis. Um, what's going on?" _  
_

  
Louis scratches the back of his neck. "Nothing, really." He says and smacks himself on the back of his head. Great ideology for calling up a customer service agent, Louis.  _Smooth._ "I mean, I called because they didn't send my cheque in again."

  
"Oh, seriously. I can't believe they still haven't got that sorted out. I'm so sorry. I'll make sure they send another one out this week." He actually sounds beaten up about it, the poor lad. Louis stretches out on his sofa, his sweats riding up his calves.

  
"It's not a big deal. How's your day?" Louis goes for the casual. Things are bleak.

  
"Horrible. There was a caller earlier in the day and she downright screamed at me. Because she wasn't satisfied with the annuity rate she was assigned with, apparently she's worked  _long enough hard enough and good enough to deserve a higher rate and a better life._ And she takes the frustration out on me! I mean, doesn't she live with her grandchildren? Maybe yell at them while baking cookies to make up for it later I don't know. I mean... oh god, sorry, I'm rambling." Harry chuckles nervously. Louis only smiles, because he thinks it's so endearing, he thinks everything Harry says is endearing really.

  
"How was yours?" Harry says after the silence where Louis forgot he was supposed to say something. 

  
"I've had better days." Louis scratches the slight stubble along his jawline. "How's the movie you went for?" 

  
"Oh, _Love, Actually_? It was the best. The plot was, amazing. Best movie I've ever watched, I think. Such an impact." Harry says with this weird tone, like he's crossed between passionate and confused. Louis gasps.

  
"You cried."

  
"I didn't!"

  
"Have I ever told you even through the phone you're a terrible liar?" Louis laughs, Harry laughs too and it's obnoxious, it's loud, and it's endearing. So endearing. Endearing endearing endearing. Louis clears his throat.

  
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed the m-" 

  
"Oh shit, it's my supervisor. Got to go. Bye, Louis!" And the static sounds are back as Louis is abruptly hung up on. Huh. His life shouldn't really be getting more pathetic than this. 

  
Tonight, Louis goes out and buys the DVD of _Love, Actually_ and replays it over and over on his ancient television until he falls asleep.

 

 

***

 

 

Louis  _hates_ retired life.

  
Okay, maybe he convinced himself he didn't for two months (sixty-one whole days, thank you very much) because for once not everyone was trying to kill him, but after all the quiet days and being stationed at one place one house for more than two weeks he figured he'd rather be risking death 24/7 rather than sit in a cold house all day. Because _excuse_ him, the most action he ever gets nowadays is punching a lifeless leather bag in his basement. And that's just no fun. 

He needs to punch something  _not_ lifeless. That's what he needs.

He shakes his head. Another week since his last conversation with Harry. Again, Louis tells him he still hasn't got his pension check, Harry blames it on himself and the office, Louis blames it on his "isolated address". Not too bad, believable at least. Louis thinks the cheque has gone missing too many times to just overlook like Harry is doing, but Louis has a feeling he doesn't really mind so he doesn't bother. In fact, Louis thinks Harry knows, and he's just playing along. Anyhow, Louis tears yet another pension check and dials the office's number.

 

***

 

"I'm taking a break from this dreadfully lonely house." 

"You're-what? What do you mean?"

"I'm going to visit somewhere."

"And where's that?"

"Kansas City." 

  
Harry pauses. Louis can hear his breathing cut short over the line. He doesn't realise until now that he's never thought about how Harry would react to this news. God, he should have planned this better. Maybe say it differently. He may come up with five hundred other ways to say it later tonight but for now this is what he comes up with. He hopes it works just fine.

  
"That's. That's where I am." Harry finally says, after a ten second silence.

  
"Mm-hmm."

"You're coming to where I am." Harry says, with a sort of dumbfounded tone. Louis can't help but chuckle lightly.

"Yes, I am. Would you," Louis stops himself, "Can I come visit, maybe?"

  
"Yes!" Harry exclaims, taking Louis by (a pleasant, by the way) surprise. "I mean, yes. Yeah. Why not. On the way. Might as well. I guess." Harry rambles right after. "When is this?"

  
"In two weeks." Louis says.

  
"Wow. Um. Cool. Um. Oh, sh-, sorry Louis, I kind of have to go right now. Sorry. Bye! I'll um, talk to you. Soon. I think. Bye!" Harry says and the line is cut off before Louis can say  anything. Well. That went pretty well, he'd say. There are many many other ways it could've gone horribly wrong, so Louis decides he's happy with that. It's good. He looks at the clock beside his bed. It's 6:22pm. He might as well have an early night, he thinks, tucking himself under his sheets and hearing Harry's voice in his head. He tries to picture how this man looks like, is he blonde? Or has he got dark, black hair? He knows he has green eyes, he mentioned it once over the phone. Dark, black hair would look real good with emerald eyes, Louis thinks. So he falls asleep, with black hair and green eyes ricocheting in his mind. 

 

***

 

Louis' eyes pop open. It's still dark out, in fact, it looks like it's still the middle of the night. He glances at his clock, 3:37am. He reaches for the glass of water that sits beside it and brings it to his mouth. He frowns. It's empty. Sighing, he gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

  
His steps down the stairs echo in the house. He has stayed in this house for not too much longer than three months, but he knows exactly which stair creaks and which stair doesn't. There are only three stairs that don't creak out of the ten, the second, the fifth, and the seventh counting from the top. It's dumb, but it's something a former CIA agent would notice. 

  
He resumes without much thought other than the glass in his hand, that is, until he steps on the seventh step and hears a creak.  
  


[Track: Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Lorde](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaVA6sgOpws)

  
It's soft, almost unnoticeable, but Louis hears it loud and clear. His brain is working a hundred miles per second, though he makes sure not to show it in his steps. 

He still maintains a slow, relaxed pace towards the kitchen, while he tries to determine where the sound came from. The hallway to his right is empty, because he can feel the slight breeze coming from the window that he leaves a crack open every night. Out of the corner of his eye however, he doesn’t see the glimmer that normally comes from a clock on the coffee table in the living room that reflects the moonlight from a window opposite. |

Almost like someone was standing in front of it. 

He walks into the kitchen and slowly, like he would be doing any other night, closes the door behind him.

He puts his glass down immediately on the counter and shrinks back beside the closed door. He makes sure not to make a sound, so he  
can hear every single other one clearly.

  
First, he doesn’t hear anything. He almost starts considering that he’d imagined it all, until he hears the all too familiar sound of bulletproof vest against cotton. It’s almost too soft, but after Louis’ eight years of experience he registers that sound like a dog to a whistle.

  
Then, it gets louder than usual. However the sound is distant, and Louis knows it’s not because it’s moving closer. It’s because there’s more than one.

  
He reconsiders his plan. There is an alternative door on the other side of the kitchen that leads to the lobby that can lead back to the hallway. They would be standing right in front of that entrance.

  
Louis moves to the door as quietly as he can. He takes caution of which wood panel he steps on, making sure they are not the ones that creak. Small step right, small step left, big step left, small step front.

  
Soon, Louis reaches the lobby, and scoots towards the entrance to the hallway. Again, he stands beside the door, pressing an ear to the wall.

  
Bulletproof vest against cotton, cotton against concrete, boot against door. Boot against door. _Boot against door._

  
Louis slips out right at the moment of their confusion and knocks the first one out with a punch to the temple.

  
There are three of them. Two of them left, anyway.

  
The second one turns around, empty-handed except for the handcuffs in his hand. Before he could attempt at least a blow, Louis ducks  
down and swings his right leg out, tripping the guy. As he falls, Louis stands up and crushes his heel onto his throat.

  
The first one turns around and he has a syringe in his hand. A rather large one, Louis would say, with enough anaesthetics to keep him out for days on end. The guy lunges forward with the syringe aimed at Louis’ throat but Louis grabs his wrist and twists it. He hears the crack of bones, and catches the syringe that falls out of grip. He sticks in into the guy’s neck before he could scream in pain. He drops to the floor.

  
He looks at the pile of bodies on the ground. Seriously? Three guys, minimally armed? They expected Louis to be taken down by _three guys?_ The _only one_ with a machine pistol was knocked out with one blow to the head. Louis almost feels offended.

  
When he makes his way back to his bedroom however, thinking about what exactly he should do with the bodies, he sees out the window, a van parked at an odd angle on the other side of the road. The back door is wide open, facing Louis’ house.

  
He walks back into the kitchen. Okay, maybe he’s less offended now. He takes the machine pistol from one of the bodies on the ground and goes back into the kitchen. He takes out a pan, slides it onto the stove and puts it on high heat. He empties the cartridge of the pistol onto the pan, and moves out.

  
He makes his way quietly down into the basement, and closes the door behind him. He quietly taps his foot against the floor until he hears a slightly off, hollow sound. Using the end of the machine pistol, he slams it into the concrete and it caves.

  
The rucksack is there, dusty and worn out, but still there. Louis takes it out and pulls the zip open.

  
He sees all that he needs, passports, pistols, and money. Lots, and lots of money. He smiles for a second, but he’s interrupted by the ricocheting of bullets against walls and ceilings of his house. The old trick always works.

  
A few seconds later he hears the windows shatter and the hollow walls of his house destroyed as bullets are shot right through them, the men outside mistaken by the false gunfire. Louis snickers a bit to himself, thinking, yeah, he definitely still has it in him.  

  
This lasts for around three minutes, which right after, the house slips back into an eerie silence.

Louis grabs a Beretta and sneaks back out of the basement into the house.

  
Right away, Louis sees a man hovering in his living room with a gun poised in front of him, back facing Louis. The man is slowly stalking forward, where two other men are leading. They’re heading into his kitchen.

  
He quietly walks nearer to the last man in the row, Man No.1, and when the two front men have just stepped foot into the kitchen he fires a bullet straight into Man No.1’s head.

  
He immediately hides behind the wall separating the kitchen and the living room. Predictably, Man No. 2 darts back into the living room, where Louis hits him in the back of his head with the Beretta, hearing the satisfying cracking sound when his gun contacts with Man No.2’s skull. Jackpot.

  
Man No.3 however, extremely _un_ predictably chucks a grenade into the room where Louis, in all flesh and bones, stands.

  
“Fucking shitting fuck,” he hears himself say, and in last minute reflex grabs the grenade, throws it back into the kitchen, and flings himself behind the couch. About half a second later, his kitchen and half his living room blows up.

  
Once it’s over, Louis peeks his head above the couch to see if there is any movement among the angry flames that consume the space. None. He slowly rises from behind the couch and takes a look into the kitchen (if he can still call _it_ that anymore), where a char barbecued corpse lies.

  
Making his way back into the basement, he grabs his rucksack and heads out the god forsaken house. Before he leaves though, he grabs a kitchen knife, chops all the men’s forefingers off, and puts them in a paper bag. Still high on adrenaline, Louis hums a Christmas song as he walks away from the wreckage, rucksack slung high on his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have such beautiful eyes.” He watches as they roll around in their sockets. (And if a blush colours Harry’s cheeks, Louis doesn’t have to know.) 
> 
> “If circumstances would be any different, I’d kiss you.” Louis says, and a silence settles between them two. Harry just blinks up at him with wide, wide eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like, this is a fic thats probably gonna take me 10 years to finish, because im a dick and im in my last two years of high school and things are getting so busy :( im so sorry if you're frustrated because of the updates that take months to come up, or if it doesnt ever come up, but im just putting this up as something im doing for myself, currently im not too concerned about people reading or not reading this. i know it might sound selfish and ignorant and im sorry, though hopefully this will be actually done and finished at some point in time :)
> 
> ****** THE LAST PART WAS EDITED ON 9/05/2016 IVE ADDED A SCENE THAT WASNT THERE BEFORE******

**KANSAS CITY          22 ND OF DECEMBER 2015**

After a bit of research on the plane, Louis finds out where Harry lives (29, Linwood Boulevard, Kansas City; such a cute little place) and catches a taxi there. He steps out in front of a boutique little terrace with more than 5 potted plants lining the pathway up to the door.

He tries knocking, but he does that for 10 minutes and eventually gives up, deciding that Harry, wherever he is, is not home, and finds a twig to pick the lock with.

It’s a bearably easy lock to pick, Louis making his way into the terrace in a short five minutes. He takes in his surroundings, more potted plants, cute family pictures on the wall with who Louis presumes is with Harry’s sister and parents. It’s. So very adorable, Louis thinks.

Louis walks to the second floor and finds Harry’s bedroom. It’s terribly neat, is the thing. His bed is made so that it seems like no one has ever slept in it ever, and his bedside table has its contents arranged in little compartments in its drawers.

Louis rummages around his closet until he finds a big enough bag, and stuffs clothes in. T-shirts, shorts, jeans—wait, are those jeggings? Louis doesn’t even know—more shirts, many of which are very floral and very sheer (who even is Harry), and some underwear. He pretends he doesn’t see the black and red lace panties as he chucks a bunch into the bag.

He goes out into the living room again, and sets the bag down. He checks the time—8:00pm—and wonders where Harry is. Shit, is he out of the city? He didn’t mention anything like that but, it’s a possibility, he could’ve gone to visit his mother, or his sister, or—

[Track: Someday - The Strokes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knU9gRUWCno)

Just then, Louis hears a car pull up in front of the terrace. He rushes to the window, and peeks out, where a man comes out of the passenger side of the car. He sees another man exit from the other side, and immediately stiffens. Does Harry—is Harry _taken_? Wait, which one of them even is Harry? Judging by his beeline toward the house, he assumes that the man coming from the passenger side is him. He watches as the other man raises his arms in frustration, and snickers to himself. Dickhead.

Suddenly registering that Harry is unlocking the door to the terrace _right this moment_ , Louis immediately scoots away back into the living room, where he brushes his jeans down and grabs the bouquet of roses he bought when he spotted a florist on the way.

He hears the door open, and his heart starts racing at a probably very dangerous rate. He takes a deep breath, and is about to say something, when Harry walks straight pass the living room entrance and into, Louis thinks, the kitchen.

His presumption is confirmed by the opening of a fridge door.

“ _Wow._ ” Harry exclaims, suddenly, startling Louis a bit. He furrows his eyebrows. Who is Harry talking to?

“Wooow.” He hears Harry say again, and gets all the more confused.

“Of course you live with your mother. _Wicked._ ” He says again, and Louis is amazed by the pure silkiness and deepness of Harry’s voice, uninterrupted by the constant static sound of the phone. His English accent becomes more enunciated too. Jesus.

“And you have no job! Excellent.” Harry says again, shocking Louis out of his stance.

He hears (presumably) a can opening, and steps coming towards the living room. Louis is just taking his second deep-breath when Harry appears at the entrance, steps halting rather animatedly as he spots Louis.

Now that he stands in coherent lighting and _right in front of Louis_ , Louis can see everything. The first thing he notices though, is Harry’s hair. Oh my god, Louis has never imagined it like this, in any of his many imaginations, but he does not want it any different now. Harry has curly, dark brown hair that rests just over his shoulders. The curls look bouncy and luscious, and Jesus Christ they’re gorgeous. Then Louis sees Harry’s _face_ , and wow. He. Harry’s eyes are this amazing kind of green that you see in the middle of rainforests (Louis would know, he’s had to assassinate a terrorist group camping in Puerto Rico). Harry is tall, tall, tall and tall, so that Louis has to crane his neck a little upwards to look at him. Wow.

“Um. Hi.” He says, which Harry doesn’t respond to. Right, state of shock. Okay. And also, he doesn’t exactly know who Louis is.

“I’m Louis. Um. Pension cheques? Love, Actually?” Louis tries. Harry blinks.

Louis is about to continue when Harry opens his mouth to speak words.

“You’re in my house.” He says. Louis stares. How the fuck does he respond to that? _Uh, no, I’m actually not. Um, yes, it’s very inappropriate isn’t it._ He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to, either, because Harry throws his can of drink at him.

“Woah, what—”

“Why are you in my house?” Harry exclaims suddenly, shocking Louis and realising, yes, right, this is a kind of normal response, considering he, indeed, without invitation or warning, is in Harry’s house.

“You need to calm down.” Louis says first, which he should’ve known would not be a very effective line.

“Why are you in my house? I told you to call first,” Harry keeps yelling, and reaches for a potted plant.

“Don’t—” Louis tries, but a potted plant comes flying at him anyway. He ducks down just in time as it hits the wall behind him.

“Harry, stop throwing things—”

“Help! Help! Intruder!” Harry yells as he throws a bouncy ball—a bouncy ball? —at Louis. This needs to stop right now, Louis thinks.

“Harry, you need to stop and listen—” another bouncy ball, “will you just listen to me please?” A bottle of lotion.

Just then, Harry spots the bag beside the living room table.

“Is that, is that my bag?” He asks.

“Um. Yes. Harry, listen—”

“You packed it.”

“ _Yes._ Harry, look, we need to go. Right now.”

A magazine flies toward him. Louis lets it hit his chest, you know, for dramatic effect.

“Harry. Listen to me. We need to leave. Right now.”

“Somebody help! Help! Intruder!” Harry starts screaming again, which, not good. Not good at all.

“Harry, stop it.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Someone is trying to kill me.” That doesn’t stop Harry. He just keeps screaming.

“They’re trying to kill you too.” That silences Harry. His head whips around to stare at Louis.

“Why would anyone want to kill me?” He asks, sounding disbelieving.

“Because. They’ve been listening to our phone calls. We’ve been under surveillance.”

“Why?” Harry presses. Louis sighs. He really, really didn’t want to go there, but. It doesn’t seem like he has much choice, now.

“Because of the way I talk to you.” Louis is met with a confused glare. He sighs again, a little bit louder.

“They know I like you.” He blurts out, which Harry doesn’t necessarily respond to, other than the glare he still keeps.

Saved from having to hear a response at all, Louis hears tyres screeching from outside the terrace. He takes a glimpse out the window, and sees a two black cars pulling up on the opposite side of the road.

“Fuck. Okay Harry,” at this point, Harry’s looking pretty shaken and aware that there is a possible threat outside his house. “Do you have a car?”

“Yes. I mean, no, not exactly. It’s my sister’s.”

“We need to get it. Where is it?” Louis rushes out. Shit shit shit, they need out of here, Right the fuck now.

“Behind the house.” Louis grabs his bag and without second thought, grabs Harry’s hand and pulls them towards the backdoor. Harry protests, but Louis ignores it and shoves him into the backseat. Harry is still screaming, which is not ideal.

Louis really, really didn’t want to have to come to this, but he doesn’t have many options. He can’t spend another 10 minutes trying to shut Harry up, so he unzips his rucksack and takes out a roll of duct-tape.

“Ohhh no no no no, don’t you fucking dare—” Harry manages to say before the duct-tape is over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Louis says and shoots Harry an apologetic look, receiving an angry glare in return. He places the bouquet of roses on Harry’s lap.

“For you.” Harry continues glaring. Louis tries to ignore it and closes the backseat door, climbing into the driver’s and speeding off.

 

***

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I know this is crazy.” Louis says, glancing into Harry’s sling bag that he snatched before leaving the terrace.

He grabs a phone, most likely Harry’s and throws it out onto the highway. He hears a muffled shout from behind him.

“And don’t think, that, I,” He grabs a can of pepper spray—why does Harry have pepper spray? –and chucks it out. “don’t think this is crazy.”

He grabs a random thing from the bag, possibly a nail filer, he doesn’t even know, and flings it out the window too.

“And I know we both hoped that the circumstances under which we’d meet, would be completely different than this, but.” Louis says, glancing at Harry through the rear view mirror. He still has that glare on his face, and Louis can see the anger plastered across it even with duct-tape covering half of it.

“You know, I’m sure that one day, we’d be looking back at this, as the amazing, thrilling adventure that it is. What do you say?” Which. Louis should not have said that.

Harry does say, though, Through the duct-tape, at least. He starts mumbling hurriedly and frustrated, then mumbling turns into shouting, shouting turns into yelling and soon Harry is just, Louis would put it this way, letting out his anger, pretty expressively considering he has duct-tape over his mouth.

About a minute later, Harry just lets out this lasting groan, banging his head down onto the seat in front of him. Louis assumes that that would be the ending of his little reverie, there.

“I’m hungry too,” he says. “Let’s get pizza and tea, sounds like a plan? _Then_ we’ll properly hit the road.”

 

***

 

 

**NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA          24 TH OF DECEMBER 2015**

Louis sits Harry on the bed of the motel. He ties his wrists to the bed poles, all the while avoiding Harry’s eyes. When he’s done, he sits back, and reaches out to Harry’s face.

“Sorry.” He says softly before tearing the duct-tape off in one swift motion. Harry hisses at the slight sting it leaves, and turning to Louis right after.

“Do you want some water?”

“If you let me go now, I won’t press charges.”

Louis sighs. He looks at Harry. He has a pleading look on his face, looking tired and slightly terrified.

“Look, I’m so sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. You have to stay with me.” Harry stares at him blankly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“You just kidnapped me!” Harry exclaims.

“I did not kidnap you, you were _in danger_. Technically, I saved you.” Harry continues to stare at him. Louis sighs again. He finds himself doing that very often.

"The only thing you saved me from was my own home which is very safe thank you very much--" Harry puts up a finger at Louis when he moves to protest, "and two cars parked out front. You know, maybe they would've brought me to safety. Maybe they were the ones who were going to save me from you. I am tied to a bed right now, anyway. I won't say things are peachy." 

Louis stares at Harry. 

"The men in the  _two cars parked out front_ will barge into your home, take you away without explanation. They will chuck you in the backseat, and tell you you're in danger and they'll be taking you to 'somewhere safe'. Turns out, that somewhere safe is an interrogation room in a bureau where the walls are steel and there are people watching you from behind the mirror you see your reflection in. There, is where you will be grilled for information about me, and even though you tell them you know fuck all about me, which you do, they won't believe you. They never do. You'll possibly be free to go after, but you'll always be under surveillance, they will always be watching you, 24/7. They will be watching your every move right until they manage to kill me, then they'll kill you too. And they wouldn't even bring you roses." 

Louis finishes. Harry only stares at him wide-eyed, his mouth forming a small gape.

"Is that true?"

"Most likely, yes."

"Oh."

Louis lets out a breath. "I'm sorry for kidnapping you."

"No, it's-it's okay." Harry says and makes a face, like he can't believe he just told someone it was okay for them to kidnap him. 

"Thank you for the roses, they're-they're lovely." Harry adds. The edges of Louis' mouth lift to form a small smile. 

"You're welcome." Louis locks his gaze with Harry. A beat, two beats, three beats passing of both of them just looking at each other, comprehending everything that is happening. 

"For the record, this has been much more interesting than my job." Harry says suddenly. Louis barks out a laugh, head throwing back in surprise. When he looks back at Harry, he's grinning right back at him, tittering laughs filling the air around them.

"Well, and for the record, you are very good-looking. Who knew customer service could be so attractive." That forces a unexpected cluck from Harry, followed by light giggles. Louis is endeared. Tenfold. 

Louis clears his throat, looking away from Harry's eyes. 

“Okay. I have to go see someone, I’ll be back in a bit.” Harry looks alarmed at this, eyes widening.

“What, so you’re just going to make me sit here? Like this?”

“It’s safe here. No one knows where you are.” Louis says, reaching for the roll of duct-tape again, and tearing off a fresh piece. He stretches it slightly to smooth it.

“Are you seriously—no, please, okay I won’t yell for help or anything, I swear, please, I don’t want it, Louis—” Louis stills at his name, rolling off Harry’s tongue. He realises he hasn’t heard Harry say his name in real life until now, and, okay. It just. It sounds _so hot_.

Louis snaps out of his stance, of which Harry seemed to notice he was in, quirking his head to the side a little. Louis reaches forward to put the duct-tape over Harry’s mouth.

“No, please, I don’t—mmmfmf,”

“I will be back in a bit.” Louis says, with his hands still on Harry’s face, so close to his own. Louis looks into his eyes, and is again struck by its sheer beauty. He sighs.

“You have such beautiful eyes.” He watches as they roll around in their sockets. (And if a blush colours Harry’s cheeks, Louis doesn’t have to know.)

“If circumstances would be any different, I’d kiss you.” Louis says, and a silence settles between them two. Harry just blinks up at him with wide, wide eyes.

“But well,” Louis says suddenly as he backs off from Harry, startling himself. “We’re here, this is happening, and, yeah. I’ll be back in a bit.” He can’t seem to stop saying that.

Louis heads out of the motel, not looking back at Harry’s curious eyes.

 

 

***

 

 

He pulls up in front of a boutique home. There are stone steps leading up to the front door, which, what the hell. He’s guessing this house was owned by a 60-year-old grandmother prior to its current occupant.

He steps on each stone step carefully anyway, so not to step on what looks like groomed grass. He doesn’t even know if people groom grass, but if they did, this would definitely be what it’d look like.

He knocks on the front door about five times before it swings open, revealing a very domestic-looking Josh, staring at him.

“Louis Tomlinson.” He drags out, a smile slow creeping onto his face. Louis follows suit. “Unbelievable.”

“Nice to see you too, Josh.” Louis says, stepping into the house (barefoot, of course, he’s learnt over many years how Josh despises shoe tracks on his floor).

“What brings you here?” Josh asks, with a raised eyebrow. I mean, is it that difficult to believe Louis came here for the sole purpose of visiting an old friend? For just, you know, the sake of seeing the guy after such a long time coming. He’s sure he’s not that insensitive.

“A wetwork squad came to visit me at my house about 48 hours ago.” 

At this, Josh seems to be taken back. His eyes widen a fair bit and he just stands in front of his closed front door, staring at Louis.

He clears his throat and gestures for Louis to follow him further into the house. They walk towards a sliding door, which Josh opens for Louis before stepping out and closing it behind them. He reaches out for a box of ciggies on a table on the balcony. He hands Louis one after taking one for himself, and brings out a lighter to light both of their joints. Louis is almost instantly grateful.

Josh knocks on the glass sliding door.

“Soundproof. I got it installed, I don’t trust that there would be no surveillance in the house.” He explains. Louis nods curtly, before taking a long drag, feeling the chemicals burn in his lungs, and puffing out a decent amount of smoke without choking. He’s been sober for about a month now, but, fuck it.

“So. The wetwork squad.” Josh says, and looks at Louis intently, waiting for him to speak.

“About six men. There was one with this huge ass syringe of anaesthetics. Whatever they wanted to do, their original plan was to bring me in alive.” Louis says, looking out at Josh’s vast backyard. There’re flower beds lining the space, and a rather large fountain in the middle, spouting water that creates calming splashing sounds as they crash onto the little pond below.

“ _Original_?” Josh asks, raising an eyebrow. Louis smirks.

“Well, that was until I took the guy with the syringe out easy-fucking-peasy. Then the rest of the team outside just shot down my entire house, to put simply.” Louis takes another drag from his cig. Josh just looks contemplatively into the distance.

“Did you I.D. any of them?” When he finally speaks, Louis is already bending down to sift through his rucksack.

“Yeah, um. I was wondering if you could help me out with that, call one of your guys or something.” He hands Josh the paper bag. Josh eyes it wearily before slowly reaching out to take it. Louis smiles apologetically as Josh peers inside the bag.

“Aw, fuck—ew. What the actual fuck.” Josh sputters, turning to toss the paper bag on the table, shaking his hand violently right after as if he could shake the disgust out through his fingers.

“They are, actually, really good leads, especially if you want to I.D. someone, you know.” Louis reasons, carefully avoiding Josh’s glare.

“Trust Louis Tomlinson to cut off the forefingers of the men he kills.” Josh mutters under his breath, visibly taking a long hard drag of his cig, before tossing it to the ground and stomping on it.

“Now you’re just making me sound like a creepy serial killer.” Louis retorts, stomping on his own cig, as it burnt out. Josh snickers.

“Aren’t we all.”

Louis stares at him.

“Yes, I will help you I.D. those. Hopefully I’ll be able to get back to you in a few hours.” Josh eyes the bag. “Other than the wetwork squad, anything else been happening in the utmost excitement of retired life?”

Louis clears his throat. Might as well mention it now.

“I met someone.”

Josh’s eyes widen, and directly on cue a mischievous smile stretches across his face.

“Ah, I see Tomlinson has finally found himself a nice gentleman to settle down with, some normalcy at least.” 

“It’s…” Louis hesitates. “Actually, it’s far more complicated than that.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“No, seriously, he’s tied up to a bed in a motel 20 minutes from here. Right now.”

Louis tries not to meet Josh’s eyes. In his peripheral vision, he can see the rise of his eyebrows. Like, they’re almost disappearing into his hairline.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So. It’s complicated.”

“Uh-huh.”

“ _Okay_.” Louis says, brushing his hands over his shirt mindlessly. “You will I.D the fingers for me, and call me, thank you, in a few hours. And I will. Um. See you, that is.” Louis tries to open the sliding door. It doesn’t budge.

Josh sighs, and nudges Louis to stand aside. He places his hand on the door handle, and slides it open with ease. Louis squints.

“Fingerprint-identification security system.” Josh mutters.

“Right.”

Before Louis steps out the front door, Josh grips him on the shoulder.

“It was nice to see you, Louis.”

Louis offers a genuine smile. “Right back at you, Devine.”

 

***

 

It is 2pm in the afternoon, and Harry is hungry.

Louis left about 2 hours ago, which judging by his statement of ‘going to be back in a few hours’, Harry reckons he should be almost back. 2 hours is counted as a few hours, he’s pretty sure.

Other than that, he’s still desperately trying to wriggle out of the handcuffs that constrict him to this bed that, really, is nowhere near comfortable.

He’s almost about to give up, thinking maybe he should give the whole ‘being free from his abductor’ thing up, and that he could still get to eat when Louis comes back. It doesn’t seem like Louis would be the torturous abductor type, considering he did sort of save Harry’s life and also did claim, very clearly, that he’d kiss Harry.

Which.

Harry is not blind.

He can see—well, _anyone_ can see that Louis is ridiculously attractive. Like, attractive to the point where it’s ridiculous. Like, _like_ , fucking ridiculously fucking attractive. Attractive. Ridiculous. Harry is being ridiculous.

But, you see, Louis has these really fucking blue eyes. They remind him of the middle of the Atlantic Sea, where blue meets just a slight tinge of green and it’s a little murky, but so so beautiful. Not like Harry has been to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, but. He imagines it would look like that.

Furthermore (yes, Harry is writing an essay in his head), his hair looks like a cloud of chestnut brown and pure happiness. It’s so cute. Whenever Louis turns his head it fluffs around a little, and then Harry soars. It was fortunate that Harry had the duct-tape around his mouth; at least his pathetic whimper was muffled.

Louis is fit too; he has to assume. He’s starting to believe the whole ‘spy’ thing, considering that there were mysterious black cars pulling up in front of his place exactly when Louis said they would. Taking that into account, he’s pretty sure secret spies train and exercise and have muscles. Therefore, Louis should be fit, if the shape of his arms through his shirt hasn’t already half revealed that.

Harry was so engrossed in his little reverie, that he didn’t hear anyone come in, until-

“Unit 1, subject found, room 27, level 3. Bring backup. Tomlinson could be anywhere.”

The man starts to walk towards Harry, but Harry is frozen in place, staring at the man with big, wide eyes.

“Harry Styles, sir, I’m so sorry this happened to you. Let me just get you out of these..” the Man, an officer; Harry notices his uniform, says. He pulls out a tool that looks like a distorted but stronger pair of scissors, and cuts Harry out of his cuffs. He then pulls the duct-tape off his mouth.

“Just follow me here, Mr. Styles. And I will surely get you to safety.” He pulls Harry up from the bed, Harry seemingly having lost coordination and understanding of this situation.

He leads him down the stairs, and Harry follows blindly, before-

“My bag.”

“What?”

“My bag. It’s still in the room. Can I go get it?”

“Mr. Styles, I have orders to get you to safety right this moment.”

“I need my bag. Please, I need to get it. It-it has stuff in there. I want to get back my stuff.”

The man sighs audibly, and before Harry can register it, the man stabs something in his neck. Harry’s speech is cut off, he can’t utter a sound, and his face is frozen in a gape and with wide eyes.

Then, before he was on the verge of passing out, he feels the stabbing pain disappear, and hears loud shuffling and thuds from behind him. Harry falls to the ground, no longer being held against a car door by the man. He can’t move his limbs, and his brain is foggy. He manages to register a loud crack before everything goes quiet.

There are footsteps coming towards him, but Harry still cannot move. He’s expecting another stab to the neck followed by possible unconsciousness, but instead, he feels strong but somehow gentle arms lift him off the floor.

“Come on, we need to get out of here. Agents would be flooding this place in minutes.”

Louis. _You saved my life._ Harry thinks. _Again. Thank you. I was so scared, Louis, I was so scared._

“My…my bag.” Is what he manages to say.

“I’ll get it. Wait one second.” He hears Louis say, before rushing back into the motel. He sags against the car door, feeling exhausted and a little dizzy. He waits for Louis.

 

***

 

Louis rushes into the motel room and starts picking things up as fast as he can. His bag was already slung on his shoulder, all he needed to do was grab Harry’s sling bag, the handcuffs and the duct tape tossed to the ground. He rids the place of any possible objects that they could trace back to him or to Harry.

He comes out of the motel and sees Harry leaning against the car door, eyes half closed and hands slightly fidgeting. He feels a pang of guilt coursing through his veins. He looks so vulnerable on the ground, so fragile and completely undeserving of all this sophistication caused by Louis’ dumb attraction to someone with a deep voice and corny jokes.

He approaches Harry and reaches to lift him off the ground.

“Come on, we should—”

Louis was halfway helping Harry up when two gun shots went off, the bullets hitting the hood of the car, dangerously close to Louis and Harry.

[Track: Sail - Awolnation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0R4pi-OWifE)   
**-If you're using earphones I suggest using both plugs for the full experience, or loudspeaker, but i reckon earphones would be more satisfying though. Enjoy :)-**

“Fucking shit. What the fuck?” Louis curses, immediately dropping Harry to the ground and ducking down himself too. He hears a dissatisfied grunt coming from Harry after he let go of him to fall fairly disgracefully to the concrete. He reaches for the gun in his belt and holds it close to his chest.

He turns from behind the car to locate the shooter. He sees half a suited silhouette shielding himself behind the guardhouse. He turns back behind the car.

“Bloody hell. It’s not the cops. It’s CIA.” He says to himself, momentarily forgetting that Harry was there.

“How do you know that?” Harry says groggily, turning his head to look at Louis. He had a dopey smile on his face, looking incredibly non-phased by gunshots being fired at the general direction of them.

“He’s wearing a fucking suit. The police don’t wear suits. They wear ugly cotton uniform.” Louis muses. He releases the safety catch of his gun.

Turning back towards the man from behind the car, he points his gun and shoots at the corner of the guardhouse, not managing to hit the agent.

“Oh my god, it’s soooooo looouuud.” Harry moans from beside him.

“We’ve got to go. Get up, Harry. Get up, get up, get up.” Louis chants while holding Harry up just enough so that his head doesn’t peek from the top of the car, just in case, you know, he’s gifted with a bullet through his brain.

He doesn’t have much of a choice than the police car in front of him belonging to the (just now) deceased officer. He knows if he tries running, there would be a very high risk of getting shot, which is not very preferable, at this point.

He tries the door and prays that it was left unlocked. The door clicks open with a flick of the handle.

“Get in, go to the passenger side.” Louis says. Harry moves to walk to the other side of the car.

Louis immediately reaches to grab his arm and pulls him back down as three more shots are fired at them.

“No, you idiot! Through here. Climb over the console. Do you have some kind of death wish?” Louis scolds, heart racing at the danger of Harry’s (reasonably influenced) actions.

Harry clumsily gets into the passenger side before Louis climbs in himself and shuts the door. The key is left in the socket, so he simply turns it to start the engine.

He doesn't waste a second once he hears the roar of the engine, pulling out so fast the tyres screech against the road, and driving out of the carpark.

He speeds along the road away from the motel, and as expected, a black sedan appears behind them. Louis takes frequent glances at the rear view mirror while driving out of nervousness, and spots a hand holding a gun reaching out the window and pointing at him.

“Shit.” Louis curses as bullets clang against the back of the car.

He spots a small intersection up front leading into a rather small alley, and swerves into it the last minute he could manage. He races down the alley at top speed, and picks up the police radio beside the steering wheel.

He presses the push-to-talk button and reports in a well-trained American accent: “Shots fired on Bolivar Street south of Tulane Avenue. Subject is on the move. He’s male, tall, wearing a suit, black quiff. Send backup immediately to arrest subject.

He puts the radio down and swerves into another alley. He hears Harry’s head bump against the window.

“Ow.” He slurs.

He starts swerving into random allies, hoping to lose the agent. He swerves into about a dozen lanes before spotting a narrow aisle to the right. He stops abruptly in the middle of the road and opens his door.

Expectantly, Harry stays in the car and stares at Louis. Louis strides to the opposite side of the car and yanks the door open.

“Get out, Harry, hurry up. Jesus Christ, you really do have a death wish.” Louis mumbles while dragging Harry out and into the aisle. There is a huge black garbage bin on one side, behind which Louis pulls Harry to hide behind.

**-music fades out-**

Louis peers at the road from behind the bin as he hears the screeching of tyres. A car door opens and slams shut, and footsteps shuffle against the tar.

Louis hears a frustrated grunt, and assumes that’s because he saw that the police car was empty.

He can make out footsteps getting softer and softer, almost disappearing when—

“It’s soooo stinky. Stinky, stink, stink.”

Louis promptly shuts Harry’s mouth with his hand, pressing down rather harshly in a panic. What the actual _fuck,_ Harry.

He hears the footsteps stop at once, and curses in his mind. The footsteps then start to sound more urgent, getting louder and louder until the agent appears right in front of the aisle.

Harry chooses that moment to bite down on his hand, which.

Louis takes a sharp breath in, apparently loud enough to capture the agent’s attention. He was just about to start down the aisle when suddenly loud police sirens filled the silence.

He hears at least four cars come to a halt, and multiple car doors opening. He sneaks a look at the situation.

The agent looks startled, frozen in place where he was about to step into the aisle, gun in hand and pointed in front of him.

“Drop your weapon and put your hands above your head!” A voice shouts above the noise.

“You can’t arrest me, I’m—”

“Drop your weapon, and put your damn hands above your head, son.” The voice calls out once more.

“This is ridiculous; I am in the middle of—”

“Sir, drop the gun and then we’ll talk.”

The agent looks around, distressed, and Louis assumes that officers are surrounding him, trapping him in the middle.

Seemingly losing his resolve, the agent lowers his gun to the ground and raises his arms. Louis hears more shuffling of feet, presumably officers closing in on the agent.

“And that’s our cue to go.” Louis says, releasing his hand from Harry’s mouth and grabbing his arm to pull him up.

He enters the street on the other side of the aisle and tries the doors of every car. The fourth one opens, and Louis sits Harry in the passenger side before entering the driver’s seat himself. He removes the plastic cover of the steering column, yanking it open.

He meddles around, putting his training to use and manages to start the ignition. The engine revs and Louis grins. He pulls out with ease and drives away from the scene.

Five minutes later, when the adrenaline had reasonably dwindled, he realises Harry hadn’t uttered a word since they got in the car.

He glances at Harry and sees that the boy is already staring at him, with a miserable pout on.

“What?”

Harry continues staring.

“Oh, come on, are you really…?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I had to! He heard you. You do realise he could’ve shot you, right? I couldn’t let that happen.” Louis says.

An indescribable emotion flits across Harry’s face for a second, before it disappears just as fast as it appeared and Harry abruptly turns his head away, pout back in place.

Louis sighs.

“Right. Um, so, we’ll be heading to New York. I’ve got a passport for you, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone tracking us. Do you want anything to eat before we head off?”

Harry doesn’t answer.

Louis gets muffins anyway.

 


End file.
